It echoed in the theater during a Lash Larue movie, like a demented cannon ball, ringing and screeching off the walls. The girls started screaming as if the whole world was blowing up.

My skinny eleven year old ass busting out the side door into bright sunlight, running down the alley and into the back door of Rexall Drugs, where I suddenly slowed my gait to a slow walk, down the cosmetics aisle, to the soda counter.

I ordered a cherry coke, and the old wart face woman behind the counter asked me, “what’s that big, evil smile all about, sonny?”